Righting a Wrong
by FrostElfofSlytherin
Summary: How had he gotten to this point? He couldn't even remember anymore. Takes place slightly before Dead Man's Chest and ends before At World's End. Summaries are not my strong point. Slight James/oc... Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

How had he gotten to this point?

He couldn't even remember anymore.

All he did remember was the hurricane and the loss of his commission shortly after that. The trip over to this God-forsaken pit of hell was fuzzy… He remembered jumping a few ships but nothing solid. All he did know was that he was a nobody in the middle of Tortuga. He, James Norrington, was sitting amongst pirates and whores.

His father would be ashamed of him.

It had been all Sparrow's fault. That bloody menace had been the cause of all his troubles. From the moment he'd stepped foot in Port Royal, he'd seemed to make it his personal goal to ruin everything the former commodore's life. Of course, Turner hadn't helped matters either what with freeing the pirate in the first place. James still didn't know what had possessed him to let Turner off the hook for that one… or pursue Sparrow right away.

He raised his rum bottle to his lips for a lengthy swig and glance around, noticing a couple of patrons shooting him nasty looks. Well… what was he to expect? He was still wearing his Navy uniform and that was probably one of the worst things he could be wearing. They'd all doubtlessly prefer he be nude instead of wearing the blue coat and tricorn hat with the wig that should be tossed.

There was some sort of commotion by the door. He didn't look up to see what was causing it; there was always **something** going on. It was better to not get involved with anything these "people" did.

"Excuse me, sir."

The feminine voice nudged him from his… what had he been thinking about again? James turned to see a girl probably not much younger than… Elizabeth… She could have been pretty had it not been for the bloodshot eyes and the kohl that looked to be at least a day old and smudged unflatteringly across her face. The dress she wore looked like everyday wear for someone of respectable status though it was stained with dirt and other things not to mention torn in a few places. He focused his slightly bleary eyes back on her face. She looked tired as though she hadn't slept for days and the remnants of what he assumed to be a mark from a hard slap on her left cheek. Her hair, long and dark with a wave, was in knots.

"What?" he asked in a tone that he hoped would send her away.

"I noticed that you were alone this evening and was wondering if perhaps you would prefer some… company…" she spoke well as he assumed she would and in even measured tones as though she were reciting a prewritten monologue against her will.

"Not particularly," he replied, disinterested in what she was suggesting. She hesitated before drawing a deep breath and laying her hand atop his.

"I am sure that we can come to some sort of understanding…"

He stared at her, into her eyes and realized something.

She was _begging_ him to listen to her.

"What are you proposing?" he asked cautiously.

"Just for a chance to ease your loneliness and line my purse with a few coins," she replied simply, though her eyes told what he needed to know.

"Do you not mean that of your employers?"

She glanced nervously to the side and out of the corner of her eye. He caught that as well and saw the two men standing by the door, watching the girl's progress. His blood boiled.

"I have a room upstairs," was all he said. She offered a tight smile and following him through the drunken mob and up the stairs. He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder to where the men who seemed to have some sort of claim on the girl just behind him were standing. They reached his room and went inside. Her hands immediately went to the back of her dress, trying to get at the laces. He reached out, gripping a wrist to stop her. Frightened brown eyes shot to his. There was a moment of silence.

"Do you wish to do it?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

"No."

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she tried to pull her hand away, "Then what do you want?"

"I want answers."

"To what?"

"You obviously do not wish to be here… so why are you? Who are those men?"

"I ca-just-let me do this," she stuttered, jerking her arm away.

"Answer me first," he retorted sharply and added after a pause, "Then I will give you what you want." She gave him a look that clearly told him that she didn't wholly trust him. He couldn't blame her.

"Will you answer a question for me first?" she finally asked. He inclined his head hesitantly.

"Did you kill the officer who owned that coat or did you find it?"

That threw him for a loop. He didn't even understand the question at first. It had to float around in his rum-tainted brain for a few minutes before he could answer.

"It is mine. I was in the Navy."

"Don't lie to me," she snapped eyes narrowed into angry slits.

"I wish I were," he sighed, "James Norrington, former commodore of the King's Navy."

"Norrington?" she gasped; he nodded, "There was something about a hurricane and then you went missing."

"Ah no… I lost my commission," he didn't know why he was admitting this to the girl, but it seemed to help with her trusting him.

"I'm sorry," she looked down at her feet, "Port-au-Prince."

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

"My home is Port-au-Prince. My name is Victoria."

James bowed his head slightly, "And how would a lady such as yourself come to a place such as this?"

She hesitated, glancing at the door as though she expected something to happen. He followed suite and noticed the shadow under the door. Someone was there… listening… Victoria touched his arm. He looked down at her and saw how she licked her lips as though trying to muster enough courage for something. Taking a steadying breath, he cupped her cheek and kissed her. She squeaked in surprise before realizing what he was doing and relaxing.

Things progressed as things would. He glanced every so often toward the door, but the shadow remained. Eventually, they reached the point of no return although he was caught off guard when he realized that she'd been untouched up to this point.

Damn.

About the only highlight he could think of when he could actually think again was that the shadow under the door was now gone. For that, he was thankful. He had questions that needed answering and she obviously couldn't do it if _they_ were listening.

"Why are you here?"

She seemed caught off guard by his question. Admittedly, the question had been abrupt in delivery, though she must have been expecting it. It wasn't as though he hadn't already asked her.

"There was a raid," she said after a silence, "They knew right where to hit us to make the soldiers useless. Everyone was panicking. I still don't have the slightest as to _why_ they attacked us only that they did and… people died." She trailed off, caught up in memories that she'd more than likely rather forget.

"Are there more?" he asked.

"Kidnapped?" she met his eyes; he nodded, "There were a few others, all young like me. I do not know what happened to them, though I would expect them to be in similar situations."

"And what situation is that?" he knew he was getting close; he just needed her to actually go and say it.

"Being forced to sell myself," she replied dully, "They said that if I don't, they will give me to the crew to what they want with me. This seemed preferable."

"Why?"

"I only have to satisfy one man as opposed to entire crew and I can sort of… pick who I want," she seemed a little embarrassed by that last bit, though he could tell that she was slowly coming to understand what it was that she was doing.

"Why did you choose me?" he asked after a spell of quiet. She hesitated. Had it not been so dark in his room, he would have seen the blush at crept up her cheeks.

"You seemed the most decent of the lot… and you were probably the last to have seen a bath."

He chuckled. She was probably right about that, though it had been quite awhile since he'd been soaked in something not alcohol or sea water. Victoria giggled and inched closer, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Why are _you_ here?" she asked. He didn't want to tell her. She had no right to know anything about him.

Though she _had_ just opened up to him.

"After the hurricane, there was nothing left for me. My life was centered on my commission and when that was eliminated… and to top it off… my fiancé ran off with the blacksmith turned pirate…"

"That must have been awful," she murmured. He didn't reply, didn't want to. What he did want was a bottle of rum to soak away the melancholy that had settled over him.

They must have fallen asleep because the next thing James knew, sunlight was beaming in through the filthy window. Victoria was still there, laying on her side, back facing him. He stayed put, not quite admitting to himself that he liked having her there. Well not _her_… but definitely having someone next to him. It made him feel no so alone.

It didn't last.

She woke up and dressed. He paid her. She left.


	2. Chapter 2

Time passed. He wasn't sure how much as days meant nothing to him anymore. At some point, there was a need for a crew. He needed money and wanted to get off this rock so he went to sign up. Fate must have had something against him.

Why else would he end up working for _Jack Sparrow_?

It didn't last long, though was certainly informational. Elizabeth had been there looking for _Turner_. Apparently, the East India Trading Company had set up shop in Port Royal under one Cutler Beckett. Said man apparently had arrest warrants for Elizabeth, Turner, and himself. Supposedly he'd helped in the escape of Sparrow.

As if.

Anyway, Turner had gotten to Sparrow first in search of buying the pirate's compass off him with papers containing a full pardon and letters of marc. Sparrow had those on his person at the moment. James couldn't figure out why Beckett would want a broken compass until he overheard that it would lead to the chest of Davy Jones. That was something he was loath to believe; Jones was a scary bedtime story for sailors, but he couldn't be real. Of course, he'd fought with undead pirates so why this would faze him he wasn't sure.

They found the chest.

They found the heart.

Turner showed up and made a grand announcement about stabbing the heart to free his father. Sparrow wanted the heart for his own nefarious ends. James wanted in for the promise of his life being restored.

After a bit of sword swinging, threatening, more sword swinging, and a dizzying ride on a dilapidated water wheel, he was back at their boat. He found the letters, but realized that he'd need something to trade. The chest was there, but there was dirt on the seat.

He could literally feel the light come on.

The heart was in Sparrow's jar of dirt. James stuffed both that and the papers into his coat and grabbed the chest, leaving the others to get away while he drew the… fish things away. He tripped and was promptly surrounded. One of the creatures with a conch shell for a head demanded the chest, so he gave it to them and ran off. Of course now came the problem of actually getting **off** the island. He hadn't quite thought that far; he hadn't thought he'd _get_ this far.

It took a couple of days of waiting on the beach for him to spot a ship and flag it down. He met Mercer who apparently worked for Beckett. The man had way about him that sent the hairs on the back of James's neck stand on end.

Thankfully they were less than a week's journey to Port Royal. The short amount of time was enough to drive James crazy. The crew even seemed to sense that there was something… _off_ about the man.

He met Beckett who wasn't any better.

The short man seemed harmless enough as opposed to Mercer who looked dangerous. There was an air about him though that spoke volumes. James felt more at ease around pirates than he did around Beckett and his powered wig.

Negotiations were short. He traded the heart for a full pardon and a commission, becoming Admiral Norrington long before he was supposed to. His house had been sold in his absence, but Beckett provided him spacious quarters elsewhere. Theodore Groves was still around, though James wasn't sure how much he could trust the man. He seemed to be in Beckett's pocket, but it was hard to tell.

James met with Governor Swann. The man had aged decades since he'd seen him last. Swann was nothing more than Beckett's puppet. Things had definitely gone downhill since he'd left.

Time passed as time does. Beckett sent ships out and when they came back they were filled with people. James was confused. He didn't like being confused.

Beckett cleared things up for him.

These people weren't people; they were pirates or associates of pirates. They were branded as enemies of the crown and the East India Trading Company. Their punishment: to hang by the neck until dead.

He thought the first few ships had been enough. They'd made a statement. Pirates would leave the Caribbean. The seas would be safer.

But no.

The ships would leave and come back, each time their brigs full of prisoners. Days were filled with hangings. One day in particular he watched the people being unloaded like animals. All this killing was taking its toll on him. Hanging pirates was fine by him… it was all the others, the ones that had "associations" with pirates that made him want to slit Beckett's throat. He could hardly find a reason to hang a woman and certainly _never_ a child, but Beckett clearly set no bounds as to who was guilty of piracy.

Apparently selling something to someone who'd talked to a pirate a decade ago was considered piracy.

The line seemed never-ending. If it wasn't for the sun's journey across the sky, James could have sworn that time was simply repeating itself in a seven minute loop. Time enough for a group of prisoners to ascend the gallows, the rope tied around their necks, that final drop, and soldiers taking the bodies down only for the process to start all over again.

He could hear the jangling chains in his sleep.

The sun was just descending when he decided to journey down to the cells. He didn't know why he did it; it only that it saddened him to see so many innocent lives being cut short. Maybe it was some form of perverse self-inflicted torture.

The faces tended to blend together. They were just a mass of sadness, resignation; there were a few that glared murder at him. He'd stopped taking notice awhile ago.

There was some commotion down the corridor. The guards following him hurried off to see what it was. James stayed put; he was tired of the violence. His eyes scanned the cells without much interest…

… until they landed on a figure a couple cells down.

"Victoria?" it came out as more of a gasp than anything.

She looked up at him, brown eyes dead. All the life had been drained from her. He hated himself for being the first in what was probably a long line of drunken one night stands.

"James?" even her voice was tired. He fought for something… anything to say to her. _Could_ he even say anything to her?

"You look well," she said, hand resting on the bars.

"I am," he replied, "What are you doing here?" he knew the reason, but couldn't wrap his head around it. She was less of a pirate than he was.

"Apparently I'm a pirate," she smirked mirthlessly.

"Nonsense," he replied.

"That would be what I told them, but they wouldn't listen."

He glanced around and saw that the other guards were still elsewhere for that moment; he bent so their eyes were level, "I will do what I can to get you out of here."

She smiled grimly, "James, I'm going to die."

"I can try to stop-"

"You can't," she cut him off.

He felt helpless, "Tell me what to do."

"Don't let me die like them."

The request was hard to swallow. She was **ready** to die, waiting for it. All she wanted was to not be hung alongside those who'd ruined her life.

James didn't have time to reply as the sound of boots came from down the hall. She followed his gaze as he stood, brown eyes steady with his green ones. They held no fear for what was coming; only asking him to respect her final wish.

He walked away, heart heavy. The calls for mercy or of abuse fell on deaf ears. It was as though they didn't exist.

_Don't let me die like them._

Did she mean for him to kill her?

If she did, would he?

Could he?

Could he kill her?


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** WARNING! CHARACTER DEATH**.

He didn't have much time to think it over.

Her meeting with the gallows was tomorrow.

If he was to do it, it would have to be done tonight.

How would he even do it?

A pistol wouldn't work… it would make too much noise. He wasn't sure if he could stomach stabbing her with a sword either. Strangling was out of the question and he already knew that he wouldn't do that.

He pondered his options through dinner. Groves kept trying to include him in conversation, but he couldn't do it. How could he talk casually when he was plotting his friend's death? especially when he was cutting his piece of meat with a silver knife.

Wait…

That was it.

All he had to do was use the knife. It was sharp enough to slice through flesh without any issue. Not only that, but it would be easy to conceal.

Mind made up, he merely waited for an appropriate time to dismiss himself. When it came, he seized it by the throat. Groves sent him an odd look at his abrupt leaving, but he ignored it. He had get out and think… pluck up the courage to actually do it.

Was it courage…? Or cowardice…?

He was plotting the death of someone never mind the fact that she asked him to. Was that considered murder? She was going to be dead by this time tomorrow whether he did anything or not.

She wasn't a pirate, though she _had_ been **forced** to associate with them.

James's head hurt. He was getting nowhere with this arguing with himself. Did it even matter if was murder? Hundreds of people had already been murdered. Some of them truly did deserve to be hanged, but the vast majority were just people trying to make a living; they weren't going to turn away business just because someone _looked_ like a pirate. **He'd** looked like a pirate and wasn't one. Victoria had been kidnapped and forced into being a whore, forced to mix with pirates.

Was it murder?

He finally decided that it wasn't. She was dead anyway; she was simply asking to go about it in her way. He wouldn't want to hang so why should she? She wasn't guilty of anything. If he did as she asked, it was a mercy killing. It was him granting her last wish.

Could he do it?

Could he kill her?

He had to. He couldn't leave her alone. She needed to know that someone still cared.

Even if that meant stabbing her in the heart instead of leaving her to hang by the neck.

His mind made up, James checked his pocket for the knife he'd pilfered from the dinner table. Finding it still there, he pulled it out and used his sleeve to shine it. He knew he was stalling for time, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

The night was half gone by the time he left his rooms. He made his way down the stairs to the cells. The snores were deafening. They covered his footsteps even when he made a slight misstep and slipped half a step down before he was able to brace himself against the wall to stop from falling down the stairs altogether.

Victoria was curled up in the front corner of her cell. He couldn't tell if she was sleeping or if she was merely pretending to. If she was, he was loath to wake her.

"James?"

Her voice echoed slightly. He knelt opposite her, the bars separating them. She smiled a little.

"I wasn't sure you were coming."

"I was… not sure if I was either," he admitted.

"What changed your mind?"

He met her eyes, "You do not deserve to die… but as it seems unavoidable, you should be able to decide the manner in which you do."

"All I said was that I did not want to hang from the gallows," she smirked, "That left everything else for you to choose from."

James swallowed and produced the knife. She stared at it, head tilted. The knife glinted in the light from the torch on the wall.

"Creative," was all she said and reached her arm through the bars. James swallowed again and gripped her arm, fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist. He stared into her eyes. She stared back unflinchingly. There was no hint of fear.

"Are you certain you want this?" he asked.

"Yes, James. I'm sure. I have never been so sure of anything in my life," she replied.

He swallowed hard for a third time and placed the small bit of steel on her skin, "I'm sorry."

Her other hand reached through the bars, touching his face gently, "Don't be. I'm sorry that I have to ask you to do this. I can tell that you don't want to."

"Hey!"

James turned toward the noise to see a guard. The man had a musket aimed at him. James handed the knife to Victoria, giving her a significant look before standing. She nodded.

If he couldn't deal with the soldier, use the knife herself.

James raised his hands in surrender. The guard stepped closer. James reacted, grabbing the end of the musket and shoving the butt of it into the man's face. The guard sunk to the floor unconscious.

James bent to check the man's pulse. Upon finding it, he went back to Victoria who had moved away from the bars. She shimmied forward again and handed him the silver. He stared at it for a moment.

A hand laid atop his. He looked up to find her smiling slightly in encouragement. Her other arm slid through the bars in silent askance. He took her wrist.

There was no point in asking her again.

He met her eyes and slid the knife across her arm. The corners of her eyes flinched in pain, but otherwise there was nothing. She smiled at him again. It was small, but it was real like the blood that was now flowing across her arm and his hand, soaking his sleeve. She pulled her arm back until her hand met his. Their fingers laced together. She laid her head against the bars as her eyes fluttered. The smile remained.

James swallowed back the tears. She wanted this, chose this. Her eyes never left his, though the lids became more persistent about closing as blood continued to drip into the stone floor.

"Thank you."

Her voice was soft, airy, like she was out of breath. He almost missed it, but didn't and nodded in acknowledgement. He didn't trust his voice nor could he guarantee the ability to not cry should he try. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly as she let her eyes close. Her fingers gave his a minute squeeze.

She exhaled.

He waited for her to breathe again.

She never did.

Her fingers went slack in his hand. He felt what was left of his heart shrivel up and die. She was dead.

She was dead and he had been the cause of it.

He'd **killed** her.

James tucked her arm back inside her cell and retreated back up the stairs, leaving the guard on the floor. He fought to keep his legs under him and working. No one intercepted him on the way back to his chambers. Once there, he allowed himself to let go. He sank to the floor, tears streaming down his face. The sobs he had to contain, stifle. Someone might hear him. It was only when he pressed his hands to his mouth to stop the screams threatening to break free that he noticed the blood.

_Her blood._

_Her_ blood was on literally on his hands.

He tore the top layer on his bed off and tried scrubbing the red off. Some of it was dried and wouldn't come off. He threw the cover away in frustration. It didn't matter. Her face was seared into his mind's eye.

Her serene face…

She'd wanted to die.

So why was **he** so devastated?

She was gone now. Her pain, her suffering was over. He should be happy about that. With that thought, the tears were able to be stemmed. The pain remained; he suspected that it always would, but he could rest knowing that he'd done what she wanted.

She'd ended her life on her own terms when death was inevitable.

The following days passed as they had.

Beckett would stare at him knowingly.

He didn't care.

He'd done what he could to correct a crime done against an innocent.

He'd righted a wrong.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**I can write another chapter to include all the At World's End stuff, but I'm only going to write it if you guys want me to so I need to hear for you! Thanks so much to all of you who read this story and hope you all enjoyed it.


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